


Blue Elephants

by Fudgyokra



Category: South Park
Genre: Anxiety, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, Friendship/Love, Gen, M/M, Panic Attacks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-10
Updated: 2015-11-10
Packaged: 2018-04-30 23:17:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,289
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5183366
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fudgyokra/pseuds/Fudgyokra
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Despite his mental assurances he suddenly felt overwhelmingly pathetic, shaking in the dark trying to talk himself out of an untimely attack. It was unforgiving, that much was certain." Craig helps Tweek calm down from a panic attack in the middle of the night.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Blue Elephants

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first thing I've posted in a while. It's not particularly great or anything, but I felt the need to vent and the need to post something, so I killed two birds with one stone, haha.

The night started out so pleasantly, bringing an unexpected but comforting drizzle. Tweek had donned his pajamas and cocooned himself in his sheets in a matter of minutes, prepared for a much-needed rest after a nightmarish week of school.

Then, in the space of a second, his good mood was overturned when his breath suddenly fled his lungs.

Panic immediately seized his chest at the sensation. The space beneath his ribs vaguely burned.

_Oh, no. No, no._

Despite the sudden rapidity of his pulse, Tweek tried to reason with his anxiety.

_It can’t happen now_ , he thought. _I won’t let it._ He kept his eyes squeezed shut as if that would help him escape the whole ordeal. _But you can’t shortcut neurosis_ , his brain told him. He knew that better than anyone in this town, probably. He suspected that everyone thought he was crazy, but even on the days he felt inclined to agree he knew, logically, that he was just anxious. Very, very anxious.

Outside, the pleasant drizzle had morphed into a steady pounding of rain against his bedroom window. A shudder racked his spine and shortened his breath again.

_Maybe it’s not a panic attack_ , he thought, _maybe this time I’m really dying_. He’d convinced himself too many times that he was dying, so this time he concentrated on taking himself out of it. _You’re not dying_ , he assured himself. _You just hurt_.

A lump built in his throat the same instant tears welled in his eyes. Despite his mental assurances he suddenly felt overwhelmingly pathetic, shaking in the dark trying to talk himself out of an untimely attack.

It was unforgiving, that much was certain.

Instinctively he reached for his cell phone and hit the only speed dial contact that wasn’t one of his parents. The answer was quick.

“Hello?”

“Craig,” he breathed, shooting up in bed. Only his boyfriend would be up at this hour…or maybe he’d woken him up again. “Oh, Jesus, I didn’t wake you, did I?”

“No,” Craig replied. “What’s wrong?” He asked right away because he knew.

Tweek couldn’t shake the dreadful feeling that he was just a regular case and that he bothered the other boy too much. “I’m sorry,” he told him, because that was the only thing he could think to say.

“Tweek, close your eyes,” Craig said.

“I’m so sorry, man. God! I do this all the time!” He drew his knees to his chest and smeared tears across his cheeks with his palm, only to pull it away and curl his lip distastefully at the shimmer on his skin. “I’m sorry.”

“Close your eyes,” Craig repeated. Tweek did so this time. “Do the birthday candle trick. You know the one I mean.”

Tweek made a whimpering noise and tugged at his hair. “Fuck,” he said, voice cracking.

“Blow out the candle,” Craig said again, still as calm and patient as before.

Tweek swallowed hard and held one finger up, picturing to the best of his ability a thin birthday candle. On top of it he imagined a tiny, warm flame flickering and puckered his lips to blow it out. A slow, steady breath escaped his mouth.

“One more time,” Craig insisted. His voice sounded very crackly and Tweek was legitimately worried he was hearing things.

“Craig, I feel sick.”

“If you need to throw up, just use the bathroom. It’s okay. Blow out the candle.”

Tweek blew out the imaginary candle again and swallowed hard. “God. Shit,” he said, resorting once more to yanking at his hair. “I’m gonna be sick.”

“Think about pink elephants or something, dude.”

When the pain of his hair pulling became too much, he maneuvered his free hand to press at his temple, instead. “Why pink?”

“Well, what color do you like?” Craig sounded like he was losing signal and Tweek was terrified he’d lose the call. He tried to ignore that and focus on a color.

The first thing he thought of was Craig’s coat and his ratty old hat, so he answered honestly with, “Blue.” He wiped more tears across his face and hoped his boyfriend didn’t think he was being pathetic.

There was a long pause on the other line. “Craig?” he asked. No response. When he pulled the phone away, he realized with a sinking feeling that the call had indeed gone dead.

Right as he’d begun to feel the misery creep back into his bones he heard his phone’s text alert sound, a tiny chime that was absorbed into the dark room. It was from Craig: A message that he was waiting at the front door.

Tweek all but dropped his phone on the bed in his haste to open the door, revealing Craig standing on his porch, dripping wet and in his pajamas. He didn’t really seem concerned about that, though.

“C’mon, man, let’s sit down,” he said before shutting the door behind him and leading Tweek over to the couch.They sat down together and Craig let him bury his face in his soaked shirt and soak it even more. All the while he rubbed his back and talked to him until his hysterical crying gave way to infrequent sniffles and his shaking had stopped.

The rain kept beating against his house, but now it felt more like a comforting white noise.

Tweek inhaled slowly as he sat up. When he looked at the clock, he had to avert his gaze guiltily to his feet almost instantly. He’d been freaking out for an hour and he’d let Craig sit there, wet and probably freezing, to deal with his fit. “I’m sorry I’m such a wreck,” he said gently, not making eye contact.

Craig wound an arm around his waist and used his free hand to tilt Tweek’s face toward his own. “You’re fine,” he said. “I’m here to help.”

“You shouldn’t have to.”

While he smoothed down some errant pieces of his boyfriend’s hair, Craig answered, “I don’t _have_ to. I want to.” And before Tweek could object, which Craig could see was going to happen, the latter stood and pulled Tweek up by the hands into a tight hug. “Come on, let’s make you some of that Nesquik shit you like.”

Tweek managed to crack a smile. “Thank you.”

“It’s all good, man.” He nudged him gently with his arm. “I don’t need to beat anyone’s ass or anything, right?”

“No, it just came out of nowhere.” He walked past where Craig was gathering the necessary supplies for the drink and went into the laundry room to pull some clothes from the dryer. “Here, these are mine. You can wear them since you’re all wet, but they might be a little big on you.”

“Thanks, babe.”

Tweek’s face warmed a bit. He always got a funny thrill when Craig called him that.

Once they’d both changed into dry clothes and Tweek had emptied the mug of Nesquik he’d been gifted, the two climbed into Tweek’s bed and laid there, all tangled limbs and fanned out hair.

Tweek was the first to speak. “Do your parents know you’re gone?”

“I don’t think they really care.”

The conversation tapered off into silence.

Tweek wormed his way against Craig’s side and draped an arm over his stomach. “I love you,” he said, looking up at him with eyes so wide that he looked almost afraid of what he’d said.

Craig ran his fingers through the other’s hair and replied affectionately with, “That’s super gay.”

Tweek snorted and Craig continued with, “I love you too. Glad you feel better.”

Satisfied with that answer, Tweek closed his eyes and allowed his tiredness to take over him. “Thanks again, Craig,” he mumbled, exhausted.

“Any time. I mean it.”


End file.
